I have returned “to tell you a tale”. . . . .
The imagination finds a rich, black vein here– the march down weird, haunted halls to a forsaken, unearthly wind that evokes H.P. Lovecraft Monsters as the trthe troubadour tells his story over a lute.
Never telling what can swim-up from that deathly state of coffin-dirt, ookey spiders and skittering creatures from the subterranean depths as “anything, goes”– so long as it’s grotesque and “not what you expected”.
Actually, I’d think that the after-life and purgatory would probably be much more like that IRS office of paperwork and endless waiting, though the outside of those confining walls would be scary, doubtlessly.
But outside. . . . . in the voids of the basement subconscious. . . . . you’re on your own.
Yes, this is where all the dark, interesting creatures revel an have their full-moon cauldron-dance around the skirting shadows, of misbegooten forms and other weird stuff.
Happy haunting, my ghoulish friends.